


You’re my perfect little Punching Bag

by angelica_barnes



Series: It’s a Long Way Down [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Zayn Malik-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 14:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: zayn needs liam like the air he breathes.if only he could say it out loud.





	You’re my perfect little Punching Bag

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "Please Don't Leave Me" by P!NK

“Don’t wait for me, I’m not coming home.”

 

 

 

 

Zayn screams and slams against his door, over and over again. He can feel pain shoot through his side until he can’t; he’s gone numb.

Eventually he collapses onto the floor, eyelids drooping shut. He can vaguely hear voices, panicked, and gentle hands are caressing his face; he can’t bring himself to care, much less stay awake.

He slips away into blackness, the light from the open door blinding.

 

 

-

 

Blood gushes down his arms and onto the floor; in reality, it trickles and stains the tiles one echoing drop at a time. Zayn watches with half-lidded eyes, exhausted of this staying awake business.

“Are you feeling any better, Zayn?” The foggy person says, but the words don’t fool him. Only four people care, and the tone suggests that whoever this is isn’t one of them.

_ Tired Eyes cares, _ Zayn thinks.  _ Tired Eyes cares the most. _

 

 

-

 

Curly’s hands are large, but warm. Zayn purrs as spindly fingers with painted nails sift through his hair, combing out the knots and rubbing his scalp; for once, something actually feels okay.

“Tired,” Zayn mumbles, leaning back against Curly’s broad chest. The pale skin is covered by a floral-patterned shirt, made of soft silky fabric that Zayn could probably recognize if he weren’t so out of it.

“What?” Curly whispers, and Zayn closes his eyes, settling in for sleep. He should sleep more often, he thinks, because then they might love him.

“Tired,” Zayn repeats. “Tired Eyes.”

 

 

-

 

Zayn doesn’t really talk to Blue Eyes, but they smoke together. Lately, though, Blue Eyes has taken away his cigarettes. He’s hidden them, somewhere, and he doesn’t seem to understand when Zayn asks him where they are.

Grey non-air is his life support, besides Tired Eyes.

And Tired Eyes  _ isn’t here _ .

“Breathe, Zayn,” Blue Eyes tells him, one of the few words that Zayn has ever heard escape his lips, and Zayn shakes his head frantically. He’s sure his eyes are wide.

Probably dazed.

_ I can’t, _ he wants to say.  _ I can’t, I’m sorry. _

 

 

-

 

Zayn feels Irish’s hands on his, guiding and pressuring. He doesn’t want to be touched, but when he opens his mouth to speak, no sound comes out. 

“Shhh,” Irish soothes. “Shhh, I’m trying to help, Zayn.”

Zayn wants to pull away, he wants to run away, he wants to  _ hide _ . But he can’t, there’s flashing lights and screaming voices and faceless strangers, and he’s frozen.

“Zayn,” another voice whispers. “Zayn.”

They sound so far away.

 

 

-

 

People.

People, everywhere. And there’s so much, it’s overwhelming. Things are being shoved in his face; they look like paper and albums and pictures, but he’s suddenly lost as to what they have to do with him.

All around. Side to side, back to back, front to front; he’s surrounded. Closing in, the walls are closing in.

Pushing closer as he crouches down.

Gentle hands are touching his face, a voice whispers his name.

No.

No, he doesn’t know who he is.

 

 

-

 

“Zayn. Zayn. Zayn, please baby, look at me.”

Tired Eyes suddenly comes into focus, his expression is gentle and he cares, he cares he cares he cares, Zayn has to keep telling himself.  _ He cares, _ Zayn thinks.  _ He has to care. _

“There you go. Come on, baby, stay with me. It’s all gonna be alright. I’m right here.”

Zayn grips Tired Eyes’ arms tightly, nails pressing dents into the cotton or leather of denim, whatever it is. He can’t think, he can’t move; he’s going to pass out.

Tired Eyes suddenly presses their lips together in a soft kiss; Zayn gasps. His eyes flutter closed and he melts; maybe his ice walls are crumbling faster than he wants, because how can he live without his defenses?

Suddenly he’s breathing into empty air, but he can still feel Tired Eyes’ arms around him.

“I’m alright,” Zayn rasps. “I’m okay, Liam.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! thx for reading :)


End file.
